


returning in waves

by 7intheevening



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: (that's not a relationship except it is), (try almost four years), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-War, Slow Burn, i.e. they don't come back to earth until it's All Over, mariah_carey_-_emotions.mp3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-15
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-05-23 21:18:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14941568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/7intheevening/pseuds/7intheevening
Summary: Two months have passed since everyone has made it back to Earth. For Keith and Lance, it's time to move on from everything that happened to them. But as they try to return to their old lives, a thousand miles apart, they realize that some things have changed for good, and other things haven't changed at all. That there’s thoughts and feelings that can no longer be kept in the dark.





	returning in waves

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! In 2017 I began writing this story as loosely-connected chapters, just for my own sake. Unfortunately, Notes on my Macbook decided to make the chapters disappear one day, and I haven't been able to find them since (womp womp). But I've developed a real interest in keeping this going, as a passion project / writing exercise / general gravitation towards talking about love, romance, and human connection. I realized I wanted to share my work, and finally decided: well, why not? So here we are!
> 
> So I'll be writing a chapter every week to two weeks (around my full-time work schedule), and hopefully I'll meet a couple of you on the other side of a finished project. Hope you enjoy.

 

 

 

 

 

Dusk was rolling over the land covering the outskirts of Phoenix, Arizona. Keith stood, leaning against the door of his pickup truck, in front of an old shack. Around it, the shadows of cacti and peyote began to fade, as the sun set. The sky was turning a deep, deep blue. The first cluster of stars were beginning to appear in the sky, a scatter of tiny white lights spanning the sky. He looked up at the curve and expanse of the globe itself. It grounded him, to be a part of something this extraordinary.

The first thing that caught Keith’s eye when he looked down was his old motorcycle. Leaning off the truck, he walked over to the bike, parked on the side of the shack, and had a look. It was worn, covered with sand and dirt, paint fade, gears and engines likely blocked with debris. He reached out to touch the brake, and clutched the handlebars in his hands. Could he still ride it? He thought about giving it a go, instinctually ready to throw his leg over the bike and rev it to life, but he hesitated. Carefully, he let go of the handlebars, and left the bike alone.

Gone was the blistering heat of the desert, in came the windchill. Chattering his teeth, he closed his jacket, and headed towards the shack. He sighed deeply, hand on the doorknob, and opened the door, carefully stepping inside.

He’s not sure why he’s surprised to find that everything is exactly the same as he left it. 

Save for a thick layer of dust and cobwebs covering the entirety of the tiny shack, not a thing has been moved. Standing in the doorway, duffel bag in hand, he glances around. 

A makeshift bed, with its old wooden frame, worn out mattress and rumpled blankets sits in the corner of the room, the only room in this home. Dresser, cupboard, a couch, desk and chair, all worn and grey. 

He began looking around, taking careful steps as the floorboards creaked below his feet. 

Stacks of cassette taps stand in a tower on the floor in the corner, next to an old cassette player, which was already old to a point of nostalgia. before he’d left, but now felt archaic. And next to it, his cork board spanned the wall, a staunch reminder of what had set his life on the journey he’d just been on for the past several years. 

An intricate web of string connected photos of the desert, charts, ancient markings, telegrams, old commanding officers, and near the top, a photo of a strong but charming-look young man, in his mid-20s, staring at the camera with a slight, confident smile on his face, in a commanding officer’s uniform and an emblem of the Galaxy Garrison behind him. Shiro.

Carefully, he took down the photo from where it was attached to a thumbtack on his board. He felt how the paper still retained a bit of its gloss from the first day he’d been given it, to when he pinned it up there, to the last time he saw it, the last time he’d been on Earth. He set it down on his desk, placed his duffel bag on his bed, then got to work. 

He opened his drawers and took from them only what he needed, a couple shirts, pants, and socks. He took a few of the items on his desk, some notebooks, pens and papers, and a few other small items he may be able to sell later on. Then, looking through the cassettes sat in the corner, he opted to grab a view: for the road. Finally, he picked up the photo of Shiro from his desk, gingerly folded it, and placed it in a pocket on the side of the bag. It was a weird impulse to want to keep it. He really wasn’t the sentimental type, and Shiro surely had much nicer photos of himself he could give him. Still, he couldn’t leave it alone. 

He glanced around at the room again, double-checking there wasn’t anything he was forgetting. He felt the inside pocket of his jacket for his knife. Then, picking up his duffel bag, he walked towards the door. He gave one final look back at the shack, but not for long, before he went through the door, and shut it for the last time.

Shiro sat in the driver seat, drumming his fingers in a staccato against the steering wheel. He was looking off into the distance, listening to some pop song on the radio. Keith eyed him quietly, still a few feet away from the truck.

“Shiro?” He finally said.

Shiro looked to his side, as if broken out a trance, through the rolled-down window.

“Hey. All done?”

“Yeah, not much to grab. Gonna replace most of it probably.”

“Always good to save money, though. Rent in Austin is no joke.”

Keith threw his bag into the back of the pick-up truck. With that, the decision felt final. 

_I’m going back to Texas._

From the bag, he fished out a cassette tape. He hopped into the passenger seat of the car, grinning. 

“Shiro, look.” He held up a copy of a Southern rock tape, a genre which he knew he couldn’t stand.

“Oh no, no, no,” Shiro said, shaking his head. “I’m driving, so I” - he snatched the tape out of his hands - “get to pick the music.”

“That’s not fair,” Keith said, frowning slightly. “I never got my licence. Otherwise I’d be driving.”

“You’ll get it in Austin. And when I come down to visit and we hit the town, you can drive AND pick the music.” He looks and sees the pitiful look on Keith’s face. He sighs and puts the cassette into the player.

“I’m not driving in Austin. I’ll go crazy,” Keith says, smiling now. The title track of the album played, twanging guitars, tambourines, drums galore.

“You should at least try to get a licence. You never know, you may need it.” Shiro puts the car into reverse and starts carefully backing up into the road, making a three-point turn to face it.

“But lessons cost so much.”

“I’ll give you the money.”

“... I’m never going to drive. I’m just going to use the ID to buy alcohol.”

“And as a fully grown adult, that’s a decision you’re allowed to make.” He’s stopped the car, about to put it into drive. He chances one last look at the shack.

“Well, this is it.”

Keith looks back too. 

“Yeah. guess it is.”

It’s quiet between the two of them, for a moment. Only the cassette tape playing. Keith’s still looking at the shack, at his old bike, the peyote, the mountains, the sun setting over the horizon. He then turns to Shiro and nods.

Shiro puts the car into Drive, and with that, they’re off, a cloud of dirt trailing behind them as they drove off onto the valley, headed for the highway, going east.

~

The sun was rising on another day in Varadero Beach. Lance rode his bicycle up the road to the country. Back in high school, he used to work on a farm owned by the Alvarez family. Over the past few weeks, he’d been helping Mr. Alvarez on the farm. As a kid, he’d worn these huge blue overalls and spend his summer planting seeds, watering sprouts, pulling out weeds, and fending off rodents and other small animals. Now, his overalls were faded, coming up well past his ankles, and he was doing the exact same work. 

The sun was bursting over the horizon. A slight breeze followed him from the ocean, likely the last breeze he’d feel that morning before the sun rose on a hot, hot day. Lance grunted as he peddled his way up the road. He wiped sweat off his forehead as the road sloped up, and he climbed the pavement. It was usually best to make a trip like this early in the morning, to beat the heat. But watching the sunrise was always nice too. As he stared at the pale-pink sky, and trees swaying gently in the breeze, it felt like the world had just been born that morning.

When he pulled up to Mr. Alvarez’s home, a small cottage on the edge of the farm property, it was 6:00, and the sun had broken well over the horizon.

For the past few weeks he’d been working here, it was finally starting to feel like everything the way it was before. The crops stood tall in the dawn, like they were sure of themselves and their purpose: to be born, to grow, to provide a meal, and then to sleep and repeat the cycle again.

He also noticed the fading of the stars above him, as the sun rose. If he squinted hard enough, he could just make them out at the top of the sky, glinting softly, just a whisper of the night. His chest felt heavy suddenly, and he wasn’t sure why.

He realized he was holding his breath. He let it out in a big huff, then focused on breathing in, slowly, slowly, until some of the weight was lifted. He focused on the trees at the sides of the house. A couple birds chirped in the trees. Lance smiled, and began whistling along with them as he parked his bike against the home, and went into the yard.

A couple chickens had wandered over there from the barn and were walking around, gently clucking, likely waiting for food. 

“Alright, alright, we’re hungry today I guess.” He squatted down to pet one. “I’ll be right back.”

Mr. Alvarez was usually up at 5:00 in the morning, like he’d been for the past 50 years. He’d have a quiet breakfast: eggs and bread with _café cubano._ Sometimes he’d watch the early morning news, get caught up on the world of politics and sports - he was fond of football, and followed most of the clubs from Europe and South America. His front door was always open, so Lance would let himself in. This morning, he was watching the news in the living room.

“ _Hola_ Mr. Alvarez,” Lance said, walking into the kitchen. There was always a pot of coffee ready for him in the morning, not something he indulged in as a teen.

“ _Hola_ Lance,” Mr. Alvarez said from his couch. Lance heard a grunt as Mr. Alvarez lifted himself from his couch and made his way over to the kitchen. Lance didn’t know how old Mr. Alvarez was: well past 60, not quite to 70 yet. He had curly salt and pepper hair, a slight beard, grey, fairly clean-shaven, and scatters of moles around his eyes. When he smiled, his eyes were very kind, deep brown, shiny. He wore a faded plaid shirt, blue jeans, and boots. He went to the sink for a drink of water.

Lance downed his coffee in one go. “So, what are we doing today?”

“Just feeding the cows, the pigs, the chickens, and making sure the the crops are OK. It’s been a hot summer. We want to make sure these plants make it to harvest season.”

“Sounds good,” said Lancee. “Do you need anything?”

Part of his job as well, nowadays, was helping out Mr. Alvarez around the house, and sometimes accompanying him into town for doctor’s appointments, or running other errands on his own.

“No, no, Lance. We’re taking it easy today. I may go to the doctor’s, get some more medication for my back.” He turned around to get more water, and take what was left of his meds.

Out of compulsion, Lance felt himself chance a glance over at the wall of photos in Mr. Alvarez’s hallway. He lingered ever so slightly on a black-and-white photo of a young woman. She was smiling softly, her hair was done in an up-do, and she wore pearls around her neck. Ms. Alvarez.

When Lance had worked here in high school, Ms. Alvarez was a clever, honest, and tender woman. She laughed in the morning while making breakfast, making light of the news as her husband watched, plowed the fields and rode the tractor in the afternoon, and made dinner for her family and all the farmhands in the evening.

When Lance came back to Earth and wanted to start work again, he found out Ms. Alvarez had passed away a year ago, from lung cancer. 

Lance wished she was here to help Mr. Alvarez. He wished she was here at all.

“OK Mr. Alvarez, I’m going to the barn first for feeding,” Lance said, finally.

“Yeah, those chickens out there are looking hungry,” the older man teased, as he began to clean the dishes.

Lance chuckled and turned to go.

“Oh, and Lance!”

Lance turned back around. Mr. Alvarez looked at him.

“Happy birthday, son,” he said.

Lance smiled slightly.

“ _Gracias_ , Mr. Alvarez.”

He chanced another glance at the photo of Ms. Alvarez, then headed out the door.

~

Keith wakes up after a long night, tucked in the back of an old Greyhound Bus. The sun is rising on a long dirt road. He pulls out a notebook and pen. He stares out the window, deep in thought, then begins to write.

_ July 22_

_ Dear Lance,  _

_Me again. How’ve you been? If this gets to you by July 29th, then happy birthday. I’m moving to Austin - I’m on the bus on my way there as I write this. I’ll write my new address at the bottom. I might not be able to afford to send letters out anymore, so just in case you ever want to Skype or something, I can send you my email address, once I make one. I said goodbye to the old place yesterday, my shack. Weird memories there. Seems like a lifetime ago. I feel like that Keith is someone I never was, just some strange_ kid _I knew ages ago, y’know? I’m happy to be moving out and living on my own. I like being with Shiro, but I also feel like some space would be good. I can’t seem to process any of what happened with others around. I’ve kind of stopped bringing it up in so many words. Anyway, write me back once you get this. Would like to hear about what you’ve been up to, the farm, the garlic knots on the boardwalk, your family. Hope you have a good birthday._

_All the best,_

_Keith_

_~_

It’s lunchtime at work, and Lance is sat on a chair on the front porch of the farmhouse outside. He pulls out the sandwich he’s packed for himself, and a letter. He reads over it a couple times, smiling. Then, he pulls out a notebook and pencil from his bag. He begins to write.

_July 29_

_Dear Keith,_

_Thanks for the last letter. I’ve been alright. This did get to me on my birthday, so thank you for the birthday wishes. It feels strange, being 21. I don’t feel it at all. More like 101. It’s weird, I somehow expected that some things would be the same when I got back home, but it’s been almost two months now, and it’s sinking in: a lot isn’t the same, at all. You expect the world won’t go on without you, but of course it does. I’m still working at Mr. Alvarez’s farm, which is nice. I like the pace of life out here. I like that everyone knows me when I walk down the street, because I’ve known them forever. It helps. Anyway, that’s exciting, to be moving. I’ve heard Austin is nice Sometimes I think I’d like to live on my own, just to see what it’s like, but I don’t think I could do it. If you decide to go through with getting an email address, let me know. My email’s at the bottom of the letter. Tell me all about all the cool stuff and adventures you get up to! And good luck._

_Take care,_

_Lance_

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry this is off to a slow start: I wanted to establish the settings, the lives they're leading right now, and establish them as individuals in their one environment, and not in relation to each other.
> 
> I'm not sure how work is discovered or shared around here, so I don't know if anyone will happen across this story. But if you're someone and you've just read this, please feel free to leave feedback, suggestions for improvement, making the story more cohesive, intriguing, proper. I have a feeling I'm going to rework this in a major way. I have no idea if that's "allowed," but I'm fickle like that sometimes.


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